


Vantage

by ryukoishida



Series: Sunlight Frenzy. Endless Tales. [7]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Canon Era, Esfan is hella shy though, Gen, M/M, Multi, and Gieve just doesn't care, everyone knows, the sisterly relationship of Farangis and Alfreed is my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is it just me being overly-sensitive or do you feel that everyone has been giving us some peculiar stares lately when we are together?”</p><p>“How do you mean?” </p><p>In which everyone in Arslan's group are finally clued in that Isfan and Gieve are... something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vantage

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, I have a much easier time writing this than I thought I would. I also finally have the chance to write Farangis and Alfreed, which made me super happy because I’ve always loved the sisterly relationship those two have in the later books. 
> 
> Prompt: Reactions from Arslan’s group when they finally clued in that Isfan and Gieve are… something.

i.

 

“Elam?”

 

The scraping of pen-tip against parchment stops, and the Shah looks up from his table as if a sudden, urgent thought has just come to mind.

 

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

 

Elam has been tidying up a corner of Arslan’s desk in order to make room for a map that Arslan has asked to view, but he pauses when the king still hasn’t said anything.

 

“You seem worried about something,” Elam comments after observing that the young king has completely stopped paying attention to his work at hand and is now chewing the end of his feather-pen as if he’s deeply engrossed in thought. The brunet organizes the documents into neat piles on another table to the side of the office before placing the blueprint of the eastern part of Ecbatana as per requested by the king.

 

“Have you noticed anything strange with Gieve and Isfan?” Arslan asks, his midnight-blue irises glimmering with a hint of curiosity as he glances up at his companion.

 

“What do you mean?” Elam continues his task efficiently, flattening the aging map and carefully placing paperweights on the corners.

 

“Well, it’s just that,” Arslan hums, tapping the end of his pen against his chin as he tries to search for the right words, “does it not seem like Gieve and Isfan have grown aloof from each other again? I thought they’ve already reconciled.”

 

He certainly wouldn’t deem them as being extremely friendly with each other, but the high-strung tension between the conscientious knight and the whimsical musician when they first met four years ago appears to have dissipated over the past years, and Arslan has seen the two men having courteous conversations occasionally.

 

Something else must have happened recently, then.

 

Arslan has noticed this for a few weeks now, but has never mentioned anything to his subordinates until this moment: whenever they have meetings in which all the leading officials in the military and administrative sectors are required to attend, and if Gieve – who doesn’t strictly have an official position but has happily accepted the post of procuratorial deputy which allows him to travel to different place while carrying out various information gathering tasks and thus, sporadically attend these meetings – happens to be present, the two men would begrudgingly sit next to each other.

 

They scarcely exchange words, but during some of the duller sessions when even Arslan finds his mind wandering, he’d start paying attention to his colleagues who are equally preoccupied, and there have been a few instances when he witnesses Isfan and Gieve exchanging fleeting glances with each other, cautious topaz on vibrant teal, before the knight pointedly turns away or lowers his head to stare a hole into the document he’s supposed to concentrate on in order to ignore him while the musician would cock his head to the side, an amused smile grazing his lips.

 

“Perchance they’ve gotten into another quarrel?” Arslan suggests, a worried frown etched on his brows.

 

“I don’t think that’s it, Your Majesty,” Elam scratches the back of his neck uneasily. He can see what Arslan is getting at though, because Elam has the suspicion that there’s _something_ going on between the two.

 

Watching from the sidelines has always been Elam’s strongest point, and his observation skills have only been improving, as he grows more mature and has numerous opportunities to study various sorts of people.

 

Just as Arslan has known of their mutual understanding regarding Shapur’s death, Elam, too, is aware of this, and the strange transformation of their relationship – from pure loathing to bare tolerance, and finally to something that can be inferred as acquaintance – doesn’t escape his surveillance either. Lately, however, even he can see the subtle changes in their attitudes, and this is especially prominent when Elam notices how Isfan and Gieve interact with each other when they think nobody else is paying them any heed. He’s just uncertain whether it’s appropriate for him to bring up such a sensitive topic in the first place.

 

“It is perhaps for the best to let them resolve their own problem, Your Majesty,” Elam says with a weak smile. “At least this time, I’m positive that it won’t escalate into something too serious.”

 

“I think you may be right,” Arslan chuckles wryly, before accepting the steaming jasmine tea that his friend has thoughtfully offered. 

 

-

 

 

“Up! To your right! Up again!”

 

Glints of silver from the clashing swords’ edges reflect from the late afternoon sun, and it’s accompanied by the strident and rhythmic cacophony of metal against metal.

 

A young woman with bright red hair tied with a sky-blue scarf is slightly out of breath, her chest heaving to inhale deeply as she swings her sword at the direction called out by her instructor, Farangis, a taller women with flowing dark locks and donned in all white, her figure meticulously graceful as she continues to manipulate her weapon as effortlessly as she calls upon the Djinns with her crystal flute.

 

“Prepare to pick up your pace, Alfreed.”

 

The red-haired woman can only nod her response, because speaking out loud will only break her pattern of breathing and what little stance she has as she feels her limbs growing heavier and fingers growing numb from the vibration of the sword’s hilt with each blow.

 

“Down! Left! Down again!”

 

Exhaustion and heat is getting the better of her, but Alfreed, if anything, never admits defeat, even during practice sessions; as a result, while her movements unknowingly become slower, her attention is beginning to wander as well, and from the corner of her eyes, she can vaguely see two men practicing archery in the field not too far from them.

 

She recognizes the mob of red-violet hair almost instantly, and the first person that comes to her mind make Alfreed finally realize something that’s been bothering her for the past few weeks, and at that sudden, unexpected turn of thought, she stumbles over her own foot, sending her falling face-down and her own weapon flung out of her grasp.

 

“Something has broken your concentration,” Farangis observes calmly as she offers a hand for the younger woman to hold onto before pulling her up to her feet.  

 

“Who’s that with Gieve?” Alfreed wonders as she takes the few steps to retrieve her discarded sword and places it back into the sheath. Even though she would sometimes attend meetings in the palace for Narsus’ sake, and Farangis has told her that it’d be a valuable opportunity to learn as well, Alfreed herself isn’t too concerned with politics, and often finds the topics discussed during these meetings too dull for her taste. But during the few meetings she did attend, she was introduced to many of the officials who work for King Arslan; since she neither has the need nor the desire to interact with them, Alfreed can hardly recognize their faces or remember their names.

 

“I believe that’s Isfan-kyou,” Farangis replies, and then glances over at her companion with a curious gaze. “Why do you ask?”

 

Alfreed shrugs, and sticks out her tongue playfully at Farangis’ quiet scrutiny. The priestess can always tell when the younger girl has more to add.

 

“Come to think of it, he hasn’t come around much to woo you with poetry or ballads for the past few months,” Alfreed mutters, tapping her finger against her chin. “Could it be that Isfan-kyou is the reason why Gieve’s stop pestering you?”

 

“Who knows?” Farangis replies, but there’s a small, knowing smile curving along her dainty lips.

 

“But you’re not bothered by this at all?” Alfreed finds it difficult to comprehend. It’s obvious from the start that Gieve has always taken a special liking to the beautiful and unattainable priestess, but he hasn’t gave up all these years, so what has changed?

 

She turns to observe the two men once more, and is startled to find that they are standing fairly close together, which shouldn’t be too surprising given the fact that the musician, who is boasted as one of the best archers in Pars, seems to be giving detailed instructions to the knight.

 

After the musician has made corrections to his posture, hands seemingly lingering a little too long each time he pauses to fix a mistake, he leans in close to Isfan to tell him something. Of course, the two women cannot hear what Gieve has said, but whatever it is, it has caused the usually stoic knight to become flustered.

 

“Why would it?” Farangis returns to Alfreed’s previous question. “It merely means that I can finally be free of that man’s silver tongue and honeyed words. Besides, I believe he has finally found himself a worthy sparring partner who is capable of keeping him in check whenever he goes astray.”

 

“A sparring partner, huh?” Alfreed isn’t so sure about that, but finally decides that she has better things to worry about than someone else’s romantic affairs.

 

-

 

 

“Daryun, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

 

It’s one of those very rare sunny days in the summer when Narsus manages to find some spare time for himself to relax in the courtyard of the palace, a set of paints, pots of water, and brushes by his side and a blank canvas propped on an easel in front of him. His double-duty as a court painter and as a deputy court minister means doubling the arduous workload, but Narsus doesn’t complain, since he finds the incessant stream of problems that require his expertise to solve a constant comfort that occupies his brain while also allowing him to teach the young Shah Arslan and his own page Elam when chances arise.

 

For someone who is revered as a Marzban as well as one of the best warriors in the country, Daryun looks uncharacteristically startled and confused as he attempts to rush past the blond-haired artist, his skin made darker by the heated blush staining his cheeks and his golden eyes darting restlessly.

 

“I – I think I’ve just witnessed something I should not have intruded upon,” Daryun mutters as he hangs his head low.

 

“You’re going to have to be a little bit more specific than that, I’m afraid,” Narsus drawls, dipping a brush into a dollop of crimson on his palette and begins his work on the canvas. “It must be something serious if it’s gotten the ‘Warrior of Warriors’ into such panic.”

 

“I don’t know if it’s in my place to speak about this matter,” Daryun sighs, but at the sight of his friend calmly making “art”, the Black Knight feels a tad easier telling the tactician what he has seen.

 

“Oh?” Narsus poises his brush in mid-stroke, the tip just half an inch away from the canvas, as he turns to look at his friend with an impish grin. “You definitely got me curious now.”

 

On second thought, perhaps Daryun should keep his mouth shut after all. He does not trust that expression on Narsus’ visage – all innocent smile and violet eyes glittering with too much interest. He doesn’t trust it one bit.   

 

“Never you mind,” Daryun exhales heavily, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he feels an oncoming headache.

 

“Please, Daryun,” Narsus laughs, the sound elegant and much too pleasant to Daryun’s ears, and the knight feels his resolve melting just a little bit. “It cannot possibly be that horrible.”

 

“It’s not really a matter of whether or not it’s horrible,” Daryun starts, and he recalls the brief few seconds of what has sent him running in the first place. “It’s more like we shouldn’t discuss fellow colleagues’ personal issues is all.”

 

“Tell me more,” Narsus twirls his paintbrush round-and-round as he waits patiently for Daryun to continue, his smile turning into an expectant one. As long as the focus is not on him and Alfreed and any sort of non-existent relationship past comradeship that they have, the brilliant tactician of Pars is willing to put other people’s personal romantic affairs before his own as a defensive shield.

 

The Black Knight figures he will never be allowed to leave until he tells the inquisitive artist what he saw, so he heaves a long-suffering sigh, and decides to spill while silently apologizing to those who are involved in this scenario.

 

“If you must know,” Daryun settles beside his friend though his eyes are straying nowhere near the content of the canvas, “I just saw… Gieve and Isfan… um, talking, before I came here.”

 

When Daryun pauses there, Narsus’ impatience increases tenfold, and he taps the end of his brush against the easel to signify the knight to continue, so Daryun clears his throat to do just so.

 

“So, when I said ‘talking’, I really meant something that’s a bit more… intimate, I suppose,” Daryun allows, a hand digging into his tresses in a frustrated groan because he can’t say anything more revealing or this entire conversation is going to verge into an uncomfortable and indecent direction for him.

 

“You mean they were kissing,” Narsus corrects him casually as he puts brush tip on canvas again – this time in royal blue. “Unless there’s more?”

 

The grin he shows is nothing short of mischievous.

 

“I didn’t stay long enough to find out,” Daryun moans into his palms, voice slightly muffled.

 

Narsus hums pleasantly, “That took a much longer time than I’ve estimated, given that Gieve is one of the involved parties, but they’re finally together, so all’s well that ends well, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

-

 

 

“Is it just me being overly-sensitive or do you feel that everyone has been giving us some peculiar stares lately when we are together?”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

The musician wraps his arms around his lover’s waist and buries his face against the firm muscles of his back, breathing in contently.

 

“Gieve! This is precisely what I’m afraid of. What if the others _know_?” Isfan attempts – unsuccessfully – to peel himself away from the musician’s embrace.

 

“Well, let them,” Gieve releases the brunet only to force him to turn around, gripping his chin insistently so that they’re at eye-level. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“That – that’s not what I’m implying at all,” Isfan protests weakly, dark topaz irises helplessly drawn to Gieve’s sea-green gaze, a trace of delight dancing along the curve of his smiling lips.

 

“Wonderful!” Gieve’s grin widens, and he slips a hand behind the knight’s head, pulling him down so that he can murmur against the corner of his lips, “Now stop wasting precious time worrying and kiss me already.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gieve continues to be shameless, and Daryun gets flustered. I don’t even know anymore, haha. Hope you folks enjoyed it!


End file.
